ACT 10: STREET FIGHTER Heir to the Shadows
by noctorro
Summary: Semi-sequel to "Return to the Shadows." Kiennen, a 14 year old from a priveledged family dabbling in the world of narcotics. But his search for the better high leads him farther into the Underworld than he imagined, and into his father's dark pas
1. Prologue: Eleven Years Later

_**Feng Residence, 12:23am**_

Kenneth Feng let his coarse caliced thumb rub across the smooth surface of the glass as his almond eyes stared at the photograph under it. The photo frame was small, about three by four inches, bordered by a fine lacquered wood. There was a small velvet stand on the back that was surprisingly strong when it came to holding up the frame. In contrast to the classy design that the frame boasted, the photograph it protected was old, withered and a little ripped at the sides. The photo showed so many signs of age that it was a wonder it wasn't in black and white.

Staring back at Kenneth from behind the glass was the picture perfect family. A young man no older than 29 years stood with his head resting on a woman's shoulders, not much younger than him, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Save for the bits of razor stubble on his face, the skin on his face was smooth. His Asian eyes were open wide, staring with a goofy face into the camera, his expression indicating vibrant youthful energy and the love for life. The only thing that Kenneth and the young man had in common was the fact that they both had black hair. It was the only feature Kenneth had kept from his youth. He rubbed his hand through his own hair, satisfied with the knowledge that even at thirty-six years of life experience, the amount of stress he'd experience, there was not a strand of gray hair on his head to indicate it.

He then looked at the crystal blue eyes of the woman, smiling so sweetly at the camera. Her eyes had been narrowed to two little slits in her face, her mouth in a tight grin on her face as her lover nuzzled her face with his stubbled chin. Her hair hung down in golden wavy locks from her head, just barely touching her shoulders.

Standing in front of her was a six year old boy, clearly a product of both young adults. The boy had his father's black hair with a little shade of brown and almond shaped eyes with the piercing blue color of his mother's. He had his mother's button nose and her full lips.

"We were so happy together, Jacqueline," Kenneth said aloud, even to his own surprise. Things looked so perfect in the photograph. In fact, as long as Kenneth could remember, when they took the picture, they were optimistic about the future. Nothing could ever ruin their lives. He was with the woman he loved and they had brought a child into the world together – little Kiennen Feng, or Hyou Sekien as he would be called in Japanese. Kenneth never thought that the only woman he ever really loved in his life, Jacqueline Lacroix would leave him to raise their only child alone. Was this some kind of test from the Gods? Why did they deem it necessary to take her away, in a bank robbery no less? Kenneth sunk his head low, remembering the time the authorities came to his house, bearing the news of his wife's fate. She had been gunned down, working as a bank teller during an armed robbery. One bullet was all it took to take Jacqueline away from Kenneth. What a way to die – shot by a bullet, killed by some scum of the earth like she was just a rat. Kenneth had nearly collapsed in shock when the police officers told him. He remembered the hot tears stinging his face, the wind driven from his body. He remembered not having any strength to move, just sit there and let his emotions take over. And Kiennan, who was only five years old at the time, not completely understanding what was going on. All that was nine years ago. Kenneth had put it behind him for the most part, but sometimes there would be that lingering emotion of loss and regret. He hadn't bothered to see other women since his wife died, though he knew that was what she would have wanted for him.

Kenneth put the photo down, having had enough of walking down the dark side of memory lane. He picked up the cordless phone sitting in front of him at his office table atop a pile of paperwork – work that he was supposed to have done by the next morning. Pushing the thought aside, he dialed what seemed to be like a set of random numbers on the phone pad. He held the receptor to his head and waited.

_Ring …_

"Come on," he hissed into the phone, "somebody pick up."

_Ring …_

How long did it take to answer a goddamn phone?!

"Hello?"

"Uncle Ken, it's Kenny here," Kenneth said. "I'm sorry to be bothering you at this time of the night, but I've got an emergency over here."

"What did Kiennan do this time?"

"He's not home. I'm so frustrated with that kid. I told him to be home by dinner. And if not, just call. But he didn't do either. How hard is it to follow simple instructions?!"

"How old is Kiennan now? Twelve or thirteen …"

"He's actually fourteen," Kenneth replied, "going on fifteen in a few months."

"Man!" Ken said. "Age is sure catching up with me. Well, at that age, he's trying to be independent of you. You should know that. I went through the same thing with Mel."

"I don't understand children," Kenneth growled. "I was independent my whole life. I lived on the streets and ate out of garbage cans. What the hell about that kind of independence is so appealing?"

"You know how kids can go on these power trips, thinking they know everything when in fact, they know nothing at all. I'm sorry, I'm probably not making you feel any better, am I?"

"Not really."

"Don't worry about a thing, Kenny," Ken assured. "I'll send Mel after him right now. He'll have your kid home in no time."

"Thanks, Uncle Ken."

"Alright, you take care and do your homework. I know you got that big business to run."

"Okay, goodnight. Tell Aunt Eliza I said hello."

Kenny hung up the phone and reclined into his leather swivel chair. He took off his house slippers and dug his feet into the thick Persian rug, staring at the pile of paperwork in front of him. Zhane Enterprises was a successful company in the business of electronics manufacturing. They made everything from CD players, MP3 players, television sets, home and mobile phones, radios, computers … their only true rival being the likes of the Kanzuki Corporation – they didn't just make electronics, they made everything else too and shamelessly promoted their products. As the chair for Zhane Enterprises' marketing department, Kenneth vowed that he would never let them sink to their level.

He found that he could successfully concentrate on his work now, knowing that Mel Masters was out there looking for his son. Kenneth had always thought of Mel as a younger brother, as they both lived at one time under the protection of Mel's father, Ken Masters – or Kenneth's own Uncle Ken. Mel was around twenty two years old now and growing into a fine young man. Having studied the martial arts under his father for his entire life, Mel was disciplined and physically fit, though Kenneth always sensed a brashness underneath the mature exterior, one he undoubtedly inherited from his father. He knew that if anyone lay a finger on Kiennan, Mel would be on the offender like a fat kid on cake.

"Screw the paperwork," Kenneth said to himself. He had better things to do – like prepare a suitable punishment for Kiennan when he got home.

_****_

_**Downtown Los Angeles, 12:45am**_

"Fuckin' gimme a toke, you shit," a young man said, half jokingly. He reached his arm out, extending only his thumb and index finger to receive the paper end of a marijuana joint, careful not to get too close to the burning embers from the other end.

"Sorry, man," another young man said, both their forms almost indistinguishable from each other in the dark. "This shit's good. Where'd you get it?"

"Vancouver, Canada," the first replied. "They got the best pot in the world."

"You're so damn lucky, you know," the second said in envy. "I wish my dad could let me travel around the world like that. Your dad's so fuckin loaded he sends you everywhere. You can speak like, three languages …"

"Four," the first countered. "It's just circumstance, yeah? My mom was French, and my dad's Chinese, but his family got murdered or something when he was like, six, when they were living in Japan. So he spent a lot of time growing up in there, then he moved to the States for a few years. So by the time they had me, they raised me speaking four languages." He shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"Hey boys, whatcha up to?" a feminine voice called from the mouth of the alleyway.

"Shit Jess, get the fuck in here! Don't let anyone know there's people in here getting high!"

"Okay!" the girl whispered. "I swear, Kiennan, your PMS outbursts are worst than mine."

"Did you get the smokes?" the second young man asked.

"Christopher Crankurt, didn't your father ever tell you how to say please?!" Jess asked, extracting the cigarettes from the pocket of her jean jacket.

Kiennan took one final puff of the joint. When he determined that there was no pot left to burn, the stomped the embers out under his hiking boot. "It's fuckin cold," he said, pulling his toque down over his head, just above his eyes. "Gimme a smoke."

"You guys got any booze left?" Jess asked, taking a light from Chris and lighting her smoke with it.

"We got you some coolers and saved a little bit of vodka for you," Kiennan replied.

"You guys plan on having any?"

The boys shook their heads. "I'm spent," Chris said. "Anymore and I think I'm gonna throw …" he trailed off after Jess waved a Kahlua bottle in front of his face. "Shit man, I love that chocolate milk shit!"

"I stole this one," she said, giggling. "Here, let's split it. Kiennan?"

"No thanks," he said, putting his hand up, cigarette smoking from between his fingers. "I feel like puking just looking at it."

"Alright, more for us …" Jess giggled, but was promptly cut off.

"What do you kids think you're doing?!" a voice called from the mouth of the alleyway.

"Shit, the cops!" Chris said, jumping to his feet. The mix of alcohol and the headrush from getting up to fast disoriented the young man for more than a few moments as he stumbled towards the back wall, hoping to make it over.

"No, it's worse," Kiennen said, getting up slowly, eyes wide with fear. "It's Mel Masters."

"Oh!" Jess cried, slowly rising to her feet. He twirled her lock curly brown hair between her fingers as she stared shyly at Mel.

Kiennen seized her by the arm, stopping her. "Look, I know you like the football player, blond hair blue eyes type, but Mel isn't here to court you. Come the fuck on!" Pulling Jess by the arm, Kiennen ran after Chris, who seemed to be having a hard time even reaching the top of the wall, though it was within arm's length.

Trained in the martial arts, physically fit, his mind clear and free from any substances, twenty-two year old Mel Masters darted after the three intoxicated teenagers. Jess was the first to get caught, as she practically ripped herself from Kiennen's grip and into Mel's own.

"I'm so glad you came for me," she said, drooling onto his shoulder.

Mel decided to play along with her little game. "If you truly love me, Jess, you will stay here and not move, okay?" She nodded. "Good."

He then left her and ran further down into the alleyway, chasing down Kiennen and Chris, catching up with them effortlessly. Tucking a teenager under each arm, Mel carried the two boys kicking and screaming towards the car – a red two door Ferrari – with Jess trailing behind.

"Your dad is going to eat you alive, Kiennan," Mel said angrily. "And you have nobody to blame but yourself." Mel got Jess to open the door to the car and he threw the kids in. "Jess, you get shotgun."

"You can't bring me back!" Kiennan cried. "Come on Mel, you know how cruel my dad can get when he gets mad!"

"What? He's gonna ban you from your own private swimming pool in the back yard?

"YES!" Kiennen cried.

Mel shook his head. "That doesn't seem too unreasonable to me."

"But he's gonna know I've been smoking. Then he'll release the hounds on me! And if they don't kill me, he won't let me go to school cause he won't even trust me to leave the house."

"He could afford a private tutor."

"I don't want that!"

"Kiennan, I've bailed you out of trouble more times than I can count. Like that time you stole that kids bike from his house, took it back later that night and smashed it through the window of his house."

"The fucker deserved it."

"The 'fucker' would've snapped you in two with his bare hands if I didn't intervene. You've got this tendency to stir up shit with people that you can't finish. Then I gotta step in there and clean your mess up for you. Each time you swear you'll never do it again but I'm telling you now, I'm finished with all this. I don't know how many times I've saved you from thugs, the authorities, even your own damn father, but I'm not teaching you anything by bailing you out all the time."

**Feng Residence, 1:12am**

As soon as the doorbell rang, Kenneth was up on his feet, thumping through the three story mansion, towards the double doors of the main entrance. Through the glass insertions on the doors, Kenneth could see Mel the property, just beyond the gates. His hand rested on Kiennan's shoulder, the younger boy not looking very happy to be home. Kenneth pulled the doors open and stepped outside, running down the red brick path that led to the gates. The cold night air whipped at his night clothes, freezing his skin, but the relief of having his son home was enough to warm him.

"Thank you Mel," Kenneth said, pushing a hidden button from inside the property, causing the gates to slide apart and open. Kenneth extended an arm, holding a twenty dollar bill in his hand. "Please accept this for the gas, time and effort you spent retrieving Kiennan."

"Don't be ridiculous, Kenny," Mel said, pushing his arm away. "You're like the big brother I never had. I'd do this for you anytime." Mel glared down at Kiennen who only glared back defiantly.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you at this time of the night," Kenneth apologized. "If you ever need anything …"

Mel held a hand up for Kenneth to stop speaking. "I know, I know, and I will. Have a good night, Kenny."

He waited for Mel to get into his car and drive off, waving goodbye, before laying the real smackdown on Kiennan. A multilingual argument ensued.

"Pourquoi tu me n'ai pas telephone?!" Kenneth screamed in French. "Why didn't you call?"

"Ore no koto wo shinpai suru na!" Kiennan shot back in Japanese. "Don't worry about me!" The argument continued, Kenneth shouting in French, while Kiennan replied in Japanese. They figured anybody up this late at night to hear their argument wouldn't understand, so at least if they were heard, no rumors could be spread. Kenneth and Kiennan had the art of fighting but keeping their personal issues private down to an art.

"And is that SMOKE I smell off you?! Did you smoke?!"

"No, you know I don't smoke."

"Don't lie to me son, I know the smell of a cigarette any day. Empty out your pockets."

"But …"

"Now!!" Kenneth demanded. Kiennan reached into his pockets and turned them inside out. Bits of paper fell out, some keys and loose change. And then, what Kenneth was looking for fell to the ground as well. A full pack of cigarettes lay at Kiennan's feet. "You don't smoke, huh?"

"Oh, it's not like you've never touched a cigarette in your life! You can't hold that against me."

"I have … NEVER touched a cigarette in my life!" Kenneth snapped, feeling a sharp stab of guilt in his conscience. He reached down and picked up Kiennan's pack of smokes and pocketed them. "I am banning you from your private pool in the back yard," Kenneth said as he turned and walked back towards the house. Kiennan just rolled his eyes and nodded his head in response. "And I'm pulling you out of school by next month. I'll be getting you a private tutor instead."

"Oh no," Kiennan said sarcastically. He mumbled under his breath, "See Mel? I called it."

"I specifically told you to call if you weren't coming back for dinner!" Kenneth screamed. "Was that too much to ask?"

"Stop fuckin freakin out, Dad," Kiennan shouted back. "I just forgot, okay?"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"

"Stop worrying, it's a pain in the ass."

Kenneth couldn't believe what he was hearing. His entire life, he didn't have anyone to care about where he was or what he was doing, and nobody to care if he got hurt – perhaps Uncle Ken was the only exception. And now that he'd been able to provide that for his own son, he gets bit in the ass with it.

"You spoiled, ungrateful little brat! When I was your age …"

"I've heard it all before, Dad. I know you ate out of garbage cans, lived under bridges, stole to get food, slept in cardboard boxes, blah blah fucking blah … Jess's parents do a much better job of exaggerating than you do. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."


	2. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Death

**The Following Evening**

**Outskirts of Los Angeles**

**10:17 pm**

Kiennen breathed in the crisp, cold night air as he stood on the outdoor stage, set up in a makeshift fashion in a meadow in the middle of a dense forest. Behind him, his fellow band members sat at their respective instruments. His high school buddies Brian Stone and James Cordick sat at the percussions table just behind him, having all sorts of strange, exotic percussion instruments strapped to his arms while more lay on the table. Christopher Crankurt stood to Kiennen's right and a few steps back with a white bass guitar, lined with complimentary red lines strapped to his shoulder. To his left, a set of three hired trumpet players held their mouths to their respective reeds, ready to start playing at anytime. In front of Kiennen, stretching out as far as the eye could see was a sea of teenagers ranging in age, build, sex, and ethnicity, all coming together to enjoy an evening of music.

The bands up for performance tonight ranged from boy bands, hip hop, orchestral, rap … for any kind of music that existed, it was certain that there was a group of performers here tonight that emulated that style. Kiennen made eye contact with Brian, a chubby teen with blonde hair cleverly gelled up into spikes, who nodded in response.

Holding the microphone to his mouth, Kiennen called out calmly. "Somebody give me a bass line." And the music started. Christopher began picking at the strings on his base guitar in a simple, yet quick chord pattern. "Yeah, that's tight." The chord pattern continued by itself until Kiennen called out, "Drop the drums right there." And James joined in the melody banging his stick on a snare drum, while Brian added some more percussion with an egg shaped shaker. "Put some horns right there, wooh!" The trumpet players joined in with the bass and the percussion and produced a solid melody.

From offstage, an attractive blonde girl in a sleeveless dress joined him by his side with a microphone in her hand as well. Kenny knew her as Cheryl Bloomsdale from his English class. They both shared a passion for music yet this was the first time they ever collaborated together.

_I see ya lookin', like whatcha see?_

_ Boy, now don't be shy- nothing but facing opportunity_

Cheryl sang with the range and passion of a pop superstar, performing like a diva in front of a crowd of adoring teens. Kiennen joined into the compilation …

**She's right, y'know, she's right**

**Man … she's right, y'know, she's right**

** You stand there lookin at me, **_at me_

**I stand here looking at you, girl **_– at you boy_

**You know exactly what's on my mind,**_ yeah, yeah_

_ It's just so easy to see, _**to see**

_You came here lookin' for me but _**– but uh, uh**

_ I don't do this type of thing all the time._

**Oh, you want me to – **_Come here, boy_

_ I got a little somethin' for ya_

**You got a little bit, can I get a little bit, yeah, yeah?**

_And I don't know_

**I don't know, what it is but I just wanna get t'know ya**

** Alright, alright, yeah**

_I need to dance_

**Tilt ya head back, take it down now**

_All night_

**Bring it back up slowly, yeah, that's right**

_I need you to dance_

**Tilt ya head back, take it down now**

_All night_

**Bring it back up slowly, yeah, that's right**

The song carried on for another two minutes with a better performance than even Kiennen could have wished for. By the end of the song, the way both singers posed with Cheryl in his arms, the crowd went wild with clapping and cheers. Brian and James did a solid job on percussions while Christian just carried the same tune throughout the song, though it worked beautifully. Kiennen was convinced that the trumpet players were the best in the area. He caught a few screw ups, but they had a talent for even making their mistakes flow with the music.

The two vocal performers and their band members shared a bow to the audience, before making their way offstage for the next band to perform. Chris threw an arm around Kiennen's shoulder with a nice loud laugh.

"Way to put the moves on Cheryl, man!" he said, patting Kiennen on the back.

"Yeah, we kinda rehearsed," he replied, giving a little childish smirk. "Are you gonna stick around to watch the other bands perform?"

"I wish I could," Chris replied, "but there's just no way. My dad's gonna eat me for breakfast if I'm not home before midnight tonight. It's a miracle I was even able to do the performance without staying past my curfew."

"Uncle Cranky is too hard on you sometimes," Kiennen remarked. "He's gotta learn to let go. We're already fourteen years old, you know?"

"I know my dad only wants what's best for me," Chris said, "and he's been through a lot of shit in his life. And I trust that whatever he tells me to do, I know it's for a good reason. Your dad, Uncle Kenny, has been through way more than mine. You might do well to listen to him once in awhile."

"No way, man," Kiennen said, shaking his head. "You don't know my dad like I do. He's too power hungry. Ever since he lost Mom, he's tried to relocate the attention he'd spend on her onto me, so I get twice the attention a kid can handle from a parent."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Chris said. "But something tells me you could learn a lot from your dad. At least, that's what I gather from what my dad's told me. I'm sure he's a nice guy – you guys just need to … I dunno, communicate more, or something."

**XXXXX**

**Feng**** Residence**

**10:29 pm**

"Marcus, I need those drafts by tomorrow!" Kenneth bellowed into the phone. "No, I can't wait another day! The printers have offered to do the job earlier, so now I'm at the front of their lineup. This is an opportunity I can't pass up! And I gave you the brochure elements three weeks in advance. You dare tell me that you're not ready yet?! If I don't have them in my hands tomorrow by 5:00 p.m. sharp, you ass is FIRED!!"

Kenneth slammed the phone down, still seething with rage. The paced his elbows on his lacquered redwood work table and formed a cup with his hands, placing his face into his palms. Being a marketing manager for a rival company to the Kanzuki Corporation was tough – and having morons working for you didn't make it the least bit easier. And where the hell was Kiennen?

He glanced at the gold rimmed liquid crystal display clock hanging on the wall, and it read 10:38 p.m. Didn't that nasty little rebel of a child have school tomorrow morning? Instinctively, Kenneth reached for the phone and dialed for the home of Ken Masters. But before he could press the last number to complete the call, he hesitated.

"I can't keep relying on Uncle Ken to help me with this kid of mine," he thought out loud to himself. "I've gotta take some responsibility. But where to begin?" He picked up the phone again and dialed Kiennen's cell.

"Sup, man," the answering machine came on. "You've reached Kiennen Feng. Jess, no I can't. Mel, no, I don't want to, and Chris, I still hate you. If it's you, Dad, I'll be home soon so don't get your pants in a knot. Otherwise, please leave a message after the beep. Gotta bounce!"

For the second time in a matter of seconds, Kenneth slammed the phone down. He looked towards the crucifix, hanging on the wall directly above his work desk. It was given to him by a friend, an ex-convict turned religious guidance counselor, Julian Marquez.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked the crucifix. The figure of Jesus on the cross was silent, fake blood dripping down his face, just below where a crown of ragged thorns hugged his head. "You look like how I feel."

RING!

"Kenneth Feng speaking," he said, picking the phone up.

"Hey, kiddo," a cheerful, friendly voice called on the other end.

"Please, Uncle Ken," Kenneth replied, "I'm thirty six years old now. You can stop calling me that whenever you want."

"Sorry, I keep on forgetting," Ken Masters apologized from the other end.

"You know, I was just about to call you."

"Kiennen's not home yet, is he?"

"How did you …"

"That's all you ever call me for nowadays. And I keep telling you the same thing. You have to up the communication between the two of you or things will never work out! It's hard enough raising a rebellious teenage boy with a wife. I can't imagine how it would be like on your own!"

Was that the only reason Kenneth would call his Uncle Ken nowadays? That couldn't be right. He loved his Uncle Ken. He was the only person that stuck through with Kenneth his entire life, constantly giving him money, funding his vacations, his education, his basic necessities … "I've been meaning to call," he said, excusing himself. "It's just that the idiots over at Zhane Enterprises have been giving me a hard time."

"Are your supervisors pissed at you?"

"No, I'm the pissy supervisor with complete monkeys working for me. So I've been busy trying to do their job for them. And that obnoxious brat of mine isn't making things any easier. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Sorry, I've got no clue."

"Look, you don't have to keep any secrets from me. I know Kiennen confides in you and Mel far more than he does in me. I swear I won't ground him …" Wait a second, wasn't he just grounded yesterday from lying about smoking? "God damn it, I forgot!"

"Huh? What did you forget?"

"I grounded the little bugger yesterday! And he left this morning, telling me he was going to school, and I forgot I hired a private tutor for him starting next week!"

Uncle Ken let out a hearty laugh from the other side of the line. "Sometimes, you're hilarious, man. But listen, I called for a reason. We're having a barbecue this Saturday evening over at my place. I want you and your kid to come."  
"Oh? What's the occasion?"

"Ryu's in town. And he'll be staying with us for a few days."

"Christ, when was the last time I saw Uncle Ryu?!" Kenneth cried. It had definitely been well over a decade, but he could never forget Ryu – the man that helped guide him in life, that took him off the path of the streets and disciplined him.

"A couple of old friends will be there as well. Guile and Chun Li have confirmed their attendance, along with Cammy, Julian, and Cranky. You're one of the last people I haven't called yet."

"Aw, shit!" Kenneth said, "I don't think I can make it. I've got a meeting with the other managers of the company in front of the CEO. We're working on a new digital music player and we've gotta update him on our progress. And the success of the Kanzuki Corporation's own product equivalent isn't letting up on us either."

"Are you sure?" Uncle Ken asked, sounding a little disappointed.

"I expect the meeting to last at least until 9:30 at night. Will the event still be going on by then?"

"Oh, for sure!" he replied. "Just come join us when you're finished with your meeting."

"I'll be there," Kenneth promised. "Oh, and … um …"

"Is there something else?"

"I don't wanna ask you again for the second night in the row but …"

"Don't worry," Ken sighed, "I'll get Mel to fetch your kid. I'm sure he knows where Kiennen is."

**XXXXX**

**Outskirts of Los Angeles**

**10:55 pm**

The crowd no longer was gathered around the edges of the stage. Instead, a circle in the middle of the vast forest of people had formed, in which two young boys stood squaring off with each other. The first was a tall brown haired kid with a scraggly hairstyle and the beginnings of a goatee on his face. He was dressed in a plain white T-shirt that revealed the slight musculature of his torso. The other boy, around half a foot shorter than his opponent and a few years younger had chestnut brown hair, though it was hard to tell due to the darkness. He had it gelled up in gravity defying spikes, going with the spiked bracelets he wore on each of his wrists.

"Alle au enfer," the younger boy cursed, receiving a look of confusion from the older one.

"You're gonna regret speaking French on American soil," he retorted.

"Kiennen, what the hell are you doing?!" somebody cried from the edge of the circle. Chris ran into the ring, and grabbed his friend by the elbow. "We're stopping this bullshit right now, and we're going home!"

"Piss off, Chris," Kiennen scowled. "This is my fight. Besides, doesn't Daddy want you home?"

Chris could tell his friend was trying to get the better of him. That was how he usually acted when he was – "You're drunk!" That, as well as the fact that his breath wreaked of alcohol.

"I'm not drunk!" Kiennen cried, pushing his friend back into the crowd. "I can take this guy."

The bigger boy threw a punch, which Kiennen ducked over with surprising agility for being intoxicated. He grabbed his opponent by the arm and using the momentum gained from the punch, positioned his body under the other boy's and flipped him over his head. The boy landed with a crunch on the wet meadow grass, but was back on his feet in a few seconds.

"That's it, I'm gonna show you not to mess with the Assassinator!"

Kiennen couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?! Hahaha … do you think you're funny, bitch? Do you? Huh?" With the last question, he shot his fist into the Assassinator's face at point blank range. The other boy grabbed his own nose and Kiennen could hardly contain his glee when he saw blood seeping through his fingers.

"You're dead, you bastard!" An axe kick was launched. Then a right hook, followed by a devastating uppercut – all of which Kiennen either dodged or blocked. "W…what the hell?" the Assassinator cried out in fear and confusion at his opponent's efficiency in a fight. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

His answer came in the form of a crushing side kick from Kiennen, whose foot connected with his jaw and launched him vertically upward by three or four feet. The kick would have normally knocked out most people cold, most people that were around Kiennen's size, anyway. But the bigger boy was still conscious, though he could hardly move from the shock and the pain.

Kiennen stood victoriously over him, but he didn't stop attacking there. He placed his shoe on the boy's throat and began crushing it underfoot.

"Stop it!" Chris cried from the edge of the ring. But even he was too horrified to do anything about it. There was something strange at work here. Kiennen was never a violent person. He was a good fighter, trained by Ken Masters at a young age. But he always used violence as a last resort. He may have been fond of getting drunk and smoking, but Chris knew at Kiennen had a good heart, much like his father, Chris's Uncle Kenny. They just had a hard time understanding each other, having the same personality and everything.

But here was a defenseless individual completely at Kiennen's mercy. And there was no mercy being shown here tonight. Chris wanted to jump in, but something told him not to. He looked at his friend and noted that although his face was familiar, there was a threatening aura about him, something incredibly sadistic, crazy, and just … pure evil. And it seemed that everybody watching the fight could feel it too. Nobody had the guts to jump in there and save the defenseless boy from his impending death.

From out of nowhere, the Assassinator somehow managed to kick his leg up, catching Kiennen in the back. Chris secretly thanked whoever was listening for that move. He didn't like to see his friend get hurt, but he didn't want to be friends with a murderer either.

The kick had earned the Assassinator some time – but his relief was short lived. Nobody present that night could explain what happened next. There was a brilliant flash of light, outshining even the lights on stage. Horrifying screams could be heard a split second later – screams of utter terror as if the angels of Hell themselves feared for their very existence. The screams only lasted two or three seconds at the most, before a long, dreadful silence enveloped the world. And then, there was darkness.

Chris came to, shaking his head. When he opened his eyes, he half expected to see light, but there was none. It was still night time. How long had he been passed out for? He forced himself to sit up, his head throbbing as he did so, and then took note of all the people that lay before him.

"What … the hell?" In the distance, blue and red lights flashed and paramedics were carrying away unconscious, drunk, teenagers away on stretchers.

"This must've been one hell of a party," he heard one of the paramedics say from a distance. His voice traveled well in the disturbing silence.

Kiennen lay just a few feet away, grabbing the sides of his head, moaning in pain. "Chris," he begged, "get the hell over here. I don't feel good." Chris approached as quickly as he could. And as he did, he could've sworn Kiennen's skin was jet black, fading slowly with every step he took closer. But as he neared, he could see that his friend's skin tone was the same color as anybody else's. Was it a trick of his imagination, or from the disorientation he must be experiencing from passing out?

"What the hell happened, Kiennen?" he asked.

His friend was shaking, as if having gone through something traumatic. Not that he could be blamed. Kiennen wasn't a fighter, and Chris knew that.

"S…something happened to me," was the reply.

"Yeah, you were acting like a total jerk."

"I thought maybe it was because I was drunk … but it wasn't."

"And how would you know that?" Chris asked.

"Because I couldn't feel my body. I felt completely … numb … for the few minutes before everyone just dropped to the ground."

"Do you remember the fight?"

"I … I remember flipping that kid over my shoulder, but that's when I lost it. I could see what I was doing, but … I couldn't … I couldn't control myself. It was like I was being possessed or something." Kiennen fell back onto the ground and brought his knees up close to his chest. "It felt like I was being invaded … I can't explain it."

"You've gotta stop bullshitting me …"

"I'm NOT!!" Kiennen suddenly shouted. "You know I'm good at lying my way out of things, and if this was a lie, it would be believable!"

"You have a point, but …"

"I wasn't in control of myself. It felt as if my whole being was just … a _shadow."_

"Holy shit, Kiennen, look …" Chris's eyes had shot open. His stomach was doing somersaults as he pointed to a patch of grass near where Kiennen sat.

"What so … oh my, FUCK!!" Both boys backed of clutching each other tightly in fright. "I … I didn't do that. There's no goddamned way I could've …"

"No way, man. There's just no way …"

Kiennen collapsed to the ground and began bawling, hot tears running down his face while he vomited onto the cold grass. Chris fell onto his knees and began shaking in fright. Lying in that patch of grass, in a pool of his own blood, was the corpse of the boy who called himself the Assassinator. A few feet away was his head, cleanly and efficiently severed from his neck.


	3. Chapter 2: Reappearance

**Feng Residence**

**3:04 a.m.**

Kenneth was awoken from his peaceful slumber by the continuous ring of the electronic doorbell that had speakers installed through every room of his three storey mansion. Whoever it was didn't let up, only letting a few seconds pass before hitting the button again. He wished for the thousandth time since moving into the house that he had some kind of telepathic ability to sever the electric wires that connected that obnoxious bell.

Dragging himself out of bed, Kenneth put on a navy blue robe that looked jet black in the darkness of that early morning and made his way down the stairs. Upon approaching the main door of the house, he somehow could feel that something wasn't right. The goose bumps that had appeared all over his body were unusual – it wasn't supposed to be so cold … was it? It was quickly approaching December after all, and this was usual. He never paid attention to the temperature inside his house before, but this time it seemed to hold some significant meeting.

A small, plasma screen monitor was embedded into the wall right beside the large double oak doors that led outside. And standing just beyond the gates of the house was the familiar form of a police officer. This time, instead of having Kiennen standing beside him, there was a petite woman – at least that's what she appeared to be. It was hard to tell with such bad lighting. And it was the woman that wouldn't let up on the doorbell.

Kenneth held the button to the speaker down and spoke politely. "Is there a problem, Officers?"

"Kenny, we need to speak to you," the woman replied. Kenny? Nobody called him that anymore! It was his nickname when he was just a child, and the only people who would refer to him as Kenny would be the ones who've known him since …

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Kenneth asked.

"As a matter of fact," she said calmly, "you do. And I was hoping to meet with you under more pleasant circumstances, but I'm afraid there is an emergency. Do you have a minute? I know it's late but …"

"Sure, I'll open up the gate."

Kenneth hit the square button right beside the speaker and watched from inside as the gate slid open, allowing the officer and his partner safe passage. Kenneth reached for the door and opened it inward, waiting for the pair to approach. He extended his hand into his home in a welcoming manner. "Please, come in."

"You have a nice house," the woman said, smiling at him with a glint in her eye. The smile … it wasn't just one strangers gave each other to be polite. It was sincere. And her face was so familiar.

"Chun Li," Kenneth said, wagging a finger at her. "I thought I recognized your voice from somewhere."

"It's good to see you've been successful," she said, "but I'm afraid I have no time for pleasantries, although after such a long time, I'm sure they are due."

"What's going on?" Kenneth asked, leading the two of them to the living room. "Have a seat." Chun Li and her partner took him up on his offer, planting their rears in a green leather sofa that appeared to swallow their bodies partially.

Kenneth made his way over to the kitchen and got some fresh coffee brewing. "I know how much you guys love this stuff. My son does too, even though I keep telling him it's bad for his health."

"Your son …" Chun Li began, but was promptly cut off.

"It's so good to see that he's not with you tonight. Usually he's in some kind of trouble, but I'm happy that you came to …" Chun Li noticed Kenneth's hands trembling as he spoke. His voice wavered and cracked. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to admit it. Chun Li regretted having to tell him that he was right, watching him reason against fact that something had indeed gone terribly wrong.

"He's missing, Kenny," she said softly.

There was a loud crash on the floor, followed by a deafening silence. Chun Li jumped from her seat and walked briskly over to where Kenneth crouched, scouring the floor for shards of the once proud coffee mug. He suddenly jerked his hand backwards with a pathetic cry and began sucking on his thumb. He looked up at her, standing there watching him with a sad look on her face.

"It's just a scratch," he said, trying to brush it off. But Chun Li could tell he was hurting. Not so much from his fresh wound, but from his worst nightmares coming true. His son, Kiennen had finally done it – he'd put himself in danger, and there was no telling how he'd get him back.

"Don't you want to hear the details?" she asked.

"Is he dead?" Kenneth finally asked, looking Chun Li straight in the eye. The wet streaks down his face were apparent now, along with the red eyes. She was surprised he was so composed. It had been a completely different story when she'd approached him about the death of Jacqueline, his French immigrant wife. Kenneth was on the ground practically howling from emotional pain, and the most Chun Li was able to do at the time was join him on the floor and hold her dear friend close and crying along with him, shedding her professional aura though she donned her uniform.

"A murder has been committed," she continued. After those words ended, Kenneth reeled back a little, clutching his chest. "But hold on, Kenny! It's not what you think! The victim was NOT Kiennen." He unclenched the muscles in his body, dropping his shoulders in relief.

"Then what does Kiennen have to do with this?"

"We think …" she paused again, not sure how to put it. She hated having to deal with her close friends. Could they not find another police detective to deal with this? "We suspect that he's responsible for the murder."

Kenneth's sadness suddenly turned into anger. "Kiennen would never do anything like that! You should know, Chun. You know him!"

"I know, I know," she said, holding her hand up. "I couldn't believe it when I first heard that he was a suspect, myself. But the evidence is there."

"What evidence?"

"The witnesses describe a boy who fits Kiennen's description fighting the victim seconds before he was killed. Every single one of those witnesses blacked out during the middle of the fight. When they woke up, everyone had dropped unconscious to the ground and were in the process of waking up. The suspect was gone and the victim … beheaded. His head was sliced cleanly from his neck."

"Maybe," Kenneth continued, trying to rationalize his way out of the situation, "but Kiennen belongs to the music scene – and we all know those hoodlums look alike."

"Christopher Crankurt was a witness too, Kenny," Chun Li said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Kenneth's eyes widened in shock. "The two of them are best friends …"

"Just as you and Cranky were," she added.

"Why would Chris say something like that?"

"Because he saw it all happen. The poor boy was so shaken up. It took a few minutes to get anything out of him. And when we finally did, I couldn't believe what he was saying myself."

"What …" Kenneth had to stop to compose himself. "What did Chris say?"

"Look, Kenny, I didn't want to have to tell you this but …"

"But what?"

"Christopher described Kiennen as appearing to be somewhat possessed. He said his eyes were glowing green and his skin was pitch black – although it could have been a trick of his eye. But I don't think so. That description sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?"

The color drained from Kenneth's face. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"Shut up," Chun Li said, shooting him a frown, "I know you know what kind of shit is hitting the fan. I need you to stop lying to yourself and face the facts, no matter how hard it is for you."

"I thought it was completely gone from my life …" Kenneth said, collapsing against the refrigerator.

"It's gone from your life," Chun Li continued, "but has reappeared in Kiennen. We thought we'd seen the last of the Shadow Technology. But apparently, we were wrong."


	4. Chapter 3: At Long Last

**Crankurt Residence**

**9:32 p.m.**

He raised a hand, knuckle poised and ready to knock on the door. But he stopped himself. Chris right behind that door, probably lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling and counting the glow in the dark stars he stuck there. He usually did when he was going through tough times, a habit carried with him since he was a mere child. And he already knew there were one hundred and fifty three of them stuck there. Chris had counted and recounted those stars so many times that everyone in the damn household knew how many were up there.

The man sighed and lowered his hand. Perhaps it was best if Chris was left alone for now. But was it wrong for a father to care so much about his son? He knew it was best if Chris was left to absorb what had happened to him. But his father, Craig Crankurt, a bearded man in his mid-forties didn't want his fourteen year old son to have to realize such violence at that age. He turned around and headed for the stairs leading to the lower level of their quaint Los Angeles home.

Craig passed a full length mirror hanging in the hallway. It wasn't his idea to put it up in the first place. It was Katarina's, his wife's. She was a beautiful woman that Craig had fallen in love with twenty one years ago, just when they were both in their mid twenties. She was a hottie back then, clear, smooth skin, an immaculate figure with curves in all the right places, and voluptuous breasts – for an Asian woman, anyway. She was a bitch back then but somehow, Craig was able to earn her trust. He had to admit to himself that the relationship started out as a purely sexual one. But after helping each other through some tough times in his life, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with the woman. He first realized it when she was there to pick him up after breaking up with the first love of his life, Cammy White.

He looked at himself in the mirror, a habit he wasn't sure when he'd picked up exactly. His hair was still red, although not as bright as it was during his younger days. There were a few gray strands on his head and on his beard. Otherwise, he retained most of his attractive, youthful features from back then like the squared jaw and the sharp nose. Craig had lost most of the muscle definition he had as a young man, but the bulk was still there. He turned sideways and examined his profile. The gut was still flat – but it wasn't as solid as he remembered, poking a finger into it. His first reaction was to scream in horror, but then again, he was forty six years old! He didn't think he looked too bad for an old man.

From the landing, Craig could hear the T.V. going, its glow casting shadows across the walls of the living room to the left of the staircase.

"Hey honey," he said to the Chinese woman curled up on the couch, a bag of popcorn in her lap. He snuggled up close to her and brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. She gazed back at him worriedly through almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones – a feature that Craig had known his entire life, but in someone else.

"Did you talk to Chris?" she asked.

"I don't think he wants to talk right now," Craig replied. "I wanted to get in there and ask him about what happened. But he's probably sick of telling his story over and over again to the authorities. I think it's best that we just leave him alone for now."

"My poor baby," she said, resting her head on Craig's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Katarina," he said. "He's our son. And if he's anything like us, he can overcome anything. We just need to give him some time. Time heals everything."

"How's my brother doing?" Katarina asked. "He must be worried sick about Kiennan, especially when Kiennan's the suspect in this crime. Gosh." She shook her head. "There's no way I'd ever imagine he was capable of murder."

"You don't actually believe the stories, do you?" Craig asked. "There's just no way Kiennen could do what they're saying he did."

"Give Kenneth a call," she requested, "I want to know if he's okay."

"But Kat," Craig protested, "you can just call him yourself if you're that worried."

"You know my relationship with him is still developing. Kenneth and I … we found out about each other very late in our lives, and under the worst circumstances."

"Yeah," Craig agreed, "I don't imagine them getting any worse than Shadowlaw. But he doesn't still hold a grudge against you, does he?"

"It's been difficult talking to him. I don't even know how to answer that question. But whether he does or not, I don't care. I just want to make sure he's alright. Now, Craig, will you please just call him? For me?"

"Fine, fine, I'm going …"

**XXXXX**

**Feng Residence**

**9:32 p.m.**

"Listen, Kenny I know it'll be hard but you have to calm down," Chun Li advised. "You're gonna pop a nerve if you don't stop pacing." She was sitting in the same sofa she sat in last night, when she first broke the news to Kenneth that his son was in trouble, and missing. Chun Li had to report back to the station later that morning but promised to come back and check on Kenneth to see if he was okay. By the time she arrived just three hours ago after work, he was in the same state as she had left him, broken and helpless, pacing around his house with a blank look on his face. He was still in his robe from the night before, obviously being too shaken to have done anything about it. He was walking blankly around his living room like a zombie by the time she arrived.

"I can't do anything, Chun Li," he said. "I … I can't expect you to know what this is like. I can't stand not knowing. I just want to know where he is. I can't eat, I can't sleep, can't work … I can't do anything but … I can't do anything."

He was starting to sound like a robot, repeating the words over and over again, but each time he repeated them, they lost more meaning. He couldn't express his anguish. His eyes were bloodshot, and red, his face was streaked with dried tears. He looked all cried out, but the pain and suffering was still there.

"Interpol is cooperating with local police to help find Kiennen," Chun Li assured him. "You have nothing to worry about. We'll find him."

"I don't care if you find him dead or alive," Kenneth said, "preferably alive. But I just … I need to know."

"It's only a matter of time, Kenny, just hold tight. We're doing everything we can."

"Do you want more coffee? I'll make more …"

"No thanks, I'm fine, really."

"Please, let me make more coffee for you."

Chun Li's expression saddened just a little more. Here Kenneth was, pacing back and forth like some mindless drone, desperate for something to take his mind off his son, and here she was denying him that luxury.

"Actually, I would like a cup now that I think about it," she said, smiling.

"Do you take cream? We've got lots."

"No, I like skim milk in mine," she replied.

"Uh, we don't have that."

"Let's go to the store and pick up some, what do you say?" Chun Li asked with a gentle smile.

Kenneth's eyes watered a little and he sniffed. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Let me have a smoke first." He headed reached for the packet of cigarettes lying on the kitchen counter, taking out a lighter from inside. Alarmed, Chun Li got up from the couched and walked over to him.

"Kenny, I thought you quit smoking years ago!"

He looked back at her. "I did," he said.

"Then what's with this!" she motioned to the pack, and the cigarette now dangling from between his lips as he got ready to light it. "Where did you get these?"

"I confiscated them from Kiennen the other night, when I caught him smoking."

The audible ring of the phone sounded throughout the room. Kenneth sighed. Fifteen years since his last smoke and all of a sudden it was like God himself was trying to prevent him from enjoying another one after so long.

"Feng Residence," he grunted into the phone.

"Hey, Kenny, it's me."

"C…Cranky!" Kenneth cried. It had been awhile since he'd heard from his adoptive older brother, the one who took care of him on the streets of Osaka when Kenneth was just a boy. "Is Chris … is he okay?"

"Chris is gonna be just fine," Craig, or 'Cranky' as Kenneth knew him better by, said. "We're more worried about you, actually, Katarina and I. Any word on Kiennen?"

"None," Kenneth replied. "B…but Cranky, there's something I gotta talk to you about."

"Spill it."

Kenneth made sure to lower his voice to a mere whisper. "Do you remember the Shadow Technology?"

"Wow, it's been awhile since I've heard about that shit. What of it?"

"You know I don't have it anymore, right?"

"Yeah, it was completely removed from your system twenty one years ago, during the Street Fighter tournaments."

"Except I think a part of it is still in me."

"Kenny, don't be stupid," Craig protested. "Bison himself confirmed it."

"Then explain how it got into Kiennen. Shadowlaw's been dead for all this time, and there is therefore no way Kiennen could possibly have it inside him unless …"

"What the HELL makes you think your son has it inside him?"

"You obviously haven't heard Chris's side of the story yet, have you?" Kenneth asked. "That's the statement he gave the police. I've got Chun Li over at my place right now and she's described what Chris told her. Black skin, black hair, black fucking everything except for green glowing eyes. Does that sound familiar? Cranky, if this really is the Shadow Technology …"

The door chime rang suddenly, interrupting their conversation. "Hold on a sec, Crank. Someone's at the door. I'm gonna put you on hold." Kenneth hit the bright orange button right underneath the pound key and spoke. "Can I help you, officers?" he asked, recognizing the image of the blue uniformed men that stood just beyond the gate, displayed on an LCD screen by the phone.

"They're my unit," Chun Li said, glancing at the screen with Kenneth. "Let's hope they've got some good news."

"Mr. Feng," one of the officers reported. "I think we have found your son."


	5. Chapter 4: Secrets Unlocked

**Los Angeles Highway**

**9:47 pm**

Kenneth couldn't stop his hands from shaking, nor his feet from shuffling about on the floorboards of the police cruiser as they sped down the highway towards the police station. Chun Li sat beside him in the backseat while her hand gripped his jittery knee in an attempt to keep him still. Though the street lights and the beautiful cityscape passed them by, the only thing Kenneth could see in his mind was his son, sitting in some jail cell with his hands shackled to his feet in a dark, dank dungeon cell.

Of course, the police station holding cells would have likely been better equipped but the mere concept of keeping someone prisoner brought back images of less than comfortable establishments, memories made when he was a fifteen year old teenager in Shadowlaw's dungeons.

"What's going to happen to Kiennen?" Kenneth asked Chun Li of his son.

She shook her head solemnly. "I don't know, Kenny," she said honestly. "I wasn't there when they found him. I don't know how much evidence they have against him. That determines what exactly they can charge Kiennen with and how long he'd spend time in prison. At this point, we don't even know if he'll be tried as a juvenile or an adult …" Chun Li had to bite her mouth to stop talking, realizing that what she was saying was having a deep impact on Kenneth.

But Kenneth had known Chun Li for most of his life, and he knew what she was like; very matter-of-fact, no sugar coating, tell it like it is. She was a police chief for Interpol, not a counselor. Nonetheless, as well as he knew Chun Li, the facts still hurt, as much as he wanted them.

"It's not his fault, Chun Li," Kenneth said, pleading with her. "It's not his fault at all … it's mine. I was the one who put the Shadow Technology into him, like my father did to me." He dropped his face into his hands, and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "I shouldn't have had fucking kids. I should've known this would have happened."

"Just because your own father screwed you over doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to live your life like anyone else," Chun Li said, digging around the depths of her cold, closed soul to try and find something comforting to say. "There was no way you could have expected things to turn out like this. So stop trying to blame yourself, okay? If anyone's to blame, it's Shadowlaw."

"It's been years since the demise of that organization and they're still haunting me."

"Their deeds can never be so easily forgotten."

"That's what Wagner told me," Kenneth said, remembering the three year time period he lived with Scott K. Wagner, military youth counselor and adoptive son of Colonel William Guile.

"And Wagner knows what he's talking about, if anyone," Chun Li added.

"I remember his words so clearly," Kenneth recounted. "'Don't let life get the satisfaction of seeing you cry when it crashes down on you. Live life to its fullest, if only to spite it.'"

Chun Li made a face. "It's so … twisted," she said. "But it makes so much sense."

The cruiser pulled to an abrupt stop and when Kenneth glanced out the window, he noticed that they had arrived at the main entrance of the police station. It was a cube shaped building painted in two alternating shades of gray, though it was hard to tell what colors they were exactly at night. A slab of concrete protruded from the face of the building, providing a cover for the stairs that led to the main entrance, which consisted of a pair of automatic sliding glass doors.

Chun Li got out of the car and extended a hand to help pull Kenneth out. "I'm not going to lie to you, Kenny," she said gravely. "With the kind of information you're going to be provided with tonight, chances are you're going to be even more broken coming out of this place than you are walking in right now. Kiennen may not be leaving with you. Are you ready to do this?"

Kenneth took a look at her extended palm, his teary eyes reflecting the light from the street fixtures. He bit his lower lip and nodded, taking Chun Li's hand as she pulled him out of the cruiser.

"Will you be needing a ride home tonight?" she asked, her firm features creasing slightly with concern.

Kenneth shook his head. "Cranky's coming to get me," he explained.

"You're in no shape to be going anywhere by yourself," Chun Li agreed. "I think it's a good idea."

**XXXXX**

**L.A.P.D. Precinct**

**10:10 pm**

Kiennen had his eyes closed for what, fifteen minutes now? It was hard to tell when all he saw were random bits of images flying through his mind; images of the fight with that boy. But he didn't remember killing him. How could Kiennen hope to bruise somebody that much bigger than him, let alone kill him? There was no way he could've imagined doing something like that. But he remembered the rage. Hell, who wouldn't in a fight like that? All that adrenaline running through his system … But he sure didn't remember slicing the kid's head from his shoulders – and so neatly at that. But if he really did, why couldn't he recall? And more importantly, how had he done it? Was he capable of cold blooded murder?

The possibility scared Kiennen. He knew he was a sheltered kid with nothing much to complain about. The only traumatizing experience for him was at the tender age of four, having lost his mother in a bank robbery. But his recollection of those times was vague at best, and his father, if anyone, had suffered from the loss far more than he did. Nowhere in his personal history could he see leading him to murder people. Sure, he'd entertained the thought before, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine himself actually _doing _it. He wasn't a murderer, Kiennen knew that much. He was sure of it. So then why was everyone pointing their fingers at him? Even his best friend, Christoper Crankurt wasn't on his side for this one. And when Kiennen's father came …

He shuddered at the thought. Kiennen was convinced that his father was always ashamed of the kind of lifestyle he chose, partying with the underground bands, getting blazed out of his mind every weekend and even between classes at school. Kenneth would be the first one to point the finger at Kiennen, confirming that he'd have it in him to kill somebody. But Kiennen knew his father was ignorant of street life. To him, all street kids were the same – drug doing, crime committing hoodlums who should be rightfully locked up. But in reality, he hung out with a bunch of kids looking to have a good time. He knew the kind of scene his father was referring to, but that was not the scene Kiennen was involved in. They weren't robbing old ladies, shooting guns at each other or killing people in their sleep. They had concerts, played instruments and sang all for the sake of music and just plain having a good time. And sure, maybe the occasional drug helped here and there.

"Why does Dad have to be so ignorant?" Kiennen asked himself. "Why does he have to be so goddamned judgmental about a scene he doesn't understand? He's been pampered his whole life by Uncle Ken Masters, Aunt Eliza, Uncle Cranky … what the hell makes him think he knows what street life is really all about?"

"Get up," a stern voice ordered.

Kiennen opened his eyes to see the same fat officer, his bald head gleaming under the florescent lights with a thick beard on his chin. It looked as if someone had ripped all the hair from his head and glued it to his jaw. The officer had found him at Rastazza, a Rastafarian club downtown; one of Kiennen's favorite hangouts. Not only had he gone there to hide from what he'd done, but the legendary Dee Jay was in town and Kiennen had to see him. Dee Jay was a champion street fighter long before Kiennen was born, and had retired on the money he made with the multiple clubs he owned in both North and South America. He spent a lot of time traveling between his clubs, and the Rastazza, being exactly midway between his locations, was the stop he most often made.

This had given Kiennen the opportunity to get to know the musical genius who had unofficially taken the teen under his wing and inspired him to chase after his dream of starting up his own punk band, to get recognized in the underground music scene. But he never thought his hobby would ever lead him into a predicament like this.

"Are you fucking deaf?" he officer hollered. "I said get up, son! Or do I have to come in there and drag you out?"

"Save it!" Kiennen snapped, rising to his feet. "You'll need that energy to open your fucking mouth big enough when you're stuffing in those doughnuts."

The officer seized him violently by the collar. "Oh, we've got a smart one here, huh?" He pulled Kiennen close enough to his face for the teen to get a whiff of his bad coffee breath.

"That's enough, Nordberg!" someone yelled from behind him.

The fat officer hesitated, but released Kiennen immediately, wagging a stubby finger at him. "I'll be seeing you later, you little brat," he said before walking off.

"Auntie Chun Li," Kiennen said, recognizing her immediately. Her familiar face was a comfort around these parts. He walked towards her to embrace the older lady in her tracks, but stopped short when he noticed his father standing just a few feet behind her, hands shoved into his pockets looking shamefully at the ground.

"D…dad," Kiennen sputtered, backing away slowly.

"It's not how it looks," Chun Li explained to Kiennen slowly, "your father's not angry at you."

"Then why won't he look at me?" Kiennen asked, his pride damaged. It was always him who tried tearing his eyes away from his father's powerful gaze, even from behind those nerdy thick framed glasses. But now, Kenneth was the one trying not to look his own son in the eye. And Kiennen never imagined the notion would hurt as much as it did. "Dad, I didn't do it. I didn't kill anyone, you have to believe me." But only a sad sob escaped from Kenneth's lips, and he suffocated another sob by burying his mouth and nose into the crook of his arm. "…please, Dad?"

Chun Li put her arm on Kenneth's shoulder. "The waiting room's just around the corner. You two will probably need some time alone. I'll let you have just that while I get the chief who will let you know what's going on with Kiennen. I'll only take five minutes or so. Did you need anything?"

"Another fucking cigarette," Kiennen thought he heard his father mutter.

**XXXXX**

This was the most awkward confrontation with his son Kenneth had ever been in. He looked sadly at his fourteen year old son sitting across from him in the dark room, fully expecting a scolding. Hell, maybe even a beating. Kenneth had never laid a finger on his son before, though from the look in Kiennen's shady eyes, he was clearly expecting one. A lamp was fixed directly over the table where they sat, casting deep shadows under their brows and noses, fogging up any emotion their eyes may have revealed.

"Dad, I …"

"No," Kenneth interrupted.

And then silence settled between them again. Kiennen looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself multiple times, looking like some kind of fish out of water, gasping for it. But it was Kenneth who spoke first.

"When it happened," he said slowly, "you were at an emotional peak, right?"

"When what happened?" Kiennen asked innocently.

"When you killed the other boy," Kenneth said firmly.

"I didn't kill anyone …"

"Yes you did." Kenneth's tone was firm, aggressive and accusing. He might as well have pointed a finger, jabbing it into Kiennen's nose for the sake of driving his point home that much more.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me," Kiennen said. "I knew you hated everything I've become, the people I hold close to me, but I never expected you to believe I was a murderer. I shouldn't even put it past you …"

Kenneth pushed his glasses up and glared at Kiennen from behind them. "You think I don't understand," he said. "You think I'm so willing to pass judgment over you without knowing the first thing about your life. Well let me tell you something son - I'm not an idiot. I know you don't believe me, but I've been through life on the streets. I've lived on my own before when I was even younger than you. I know exactly what is out there, I know exactly what it is you do with your friends, and I know that you fucking killed somebody tonight!"

Kiennen glared back at him hatefully, clenching and unclenching his fists with rage. Everything Kenneth was saying to him proved his opinions about his father all along. If he'd known the first thing about his own son, he'd know that Kiennen would never _ever _deliberately kill another human being. Kenneth only liked to act like he knew, which was why his claims about spending life alone on the streets were nothing more than lies to somehow gain a foothold in their arguments. But Kiennen wasn't going to fall for it.

"You think you know _everything …_" Kiennen began, but Kenneth cut him off a second time.

"Yeah, and I also know that this time … it wasn't your fault."

Kiennen's words jammed in his throat. His father's claims had caught him completely by surprise.

"Dad, what are you saying?"

"Son … I haven't been the most … the most honest with you," Kenneth admitted shamefully, staring at his folded hands before him. He removed the loose glasses from his face and placed them on the table before him. He could see Kiennen staring curiously at him from the corner of his eyes. Besides photographs of his younger days, Kenneth was sure his son had never seen him without those prescription spectacles before. "The awful truth is, you very well killed somebody today. I know you didn't intend to do it. But when you're at an emotional peak, sometimes, these things happen to you. We lose control of our bodies and start acting like cold killing machines."

Kiennen cocked an eyebrow. "They never taught us this in school."

"When I say 'we'," Kenneth elaborated, "I don't mean us humans." Kenny paused to lick his dry lips while he thought of a sane way to put his thoughts into words, though no appropriate wording came to mind. "I mean, us … us … you and me." Then he looked up from the table surface and into Kiennen's confused expression.

"I don't understand you."

Kenneth shook his head, and wanted to laugh at himself for everything he was about to tell his son. This was information Kiennen had a right to know about his own family but had kept hidden from him his whole life.

"Dit moi de ton grandpère," Kenneth said in French, bringing his voice down a notch. _Tell me what you know about your grandfather. _He didn't want anyone else to hear him, let alone understand what he was saying.

"Nothing," Kiennen replied. Whenever Kenneth spoke in a different language, in this case, French, Kiennen's mother's native tongue, he knew it was because his father didn't want anyone understanding. But he figured responding in English was the easiest way. Besides, nobody would be able to get a conversation by only comprehending half of it. "You never told me anything about him."

"Et sais-tu pour quois?" _And do you know why?_

Kiennen shook his head. "No. I've asked you before but you never went into detail."

"Je vais t'expliquer." _I'll tell you now._

And so Kenneth cleared his throat, all the while thinking, of a good place to start the tale. "He was a scientist, or so I hear; a very talented one, too. He worked for a company called … are you ready for this?"

"Yeah."

"Shadowlaw."

"You're kidding me," Kiennen said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I swear, Dad, you're full of bullshit."

"I'm not joking, Kiennen," Kenneth insisted. "You don't believe any of this because you're right – it _is _bullshit; and it's really happened and I've tried my hardest to keep you from this. I didn't want you to even become acquainted with some of the bullshit that's haunted me from the earliest years of my life. But somehow, it has transcended the generations from me to you and …"

"What are you trying so say?" Kiennen suddenly snapped. "That whatever happened to me back has happened to you before? Are you saying that you've killed people in the past?"

"Son, all I'm saying is …"

"What are you hiding from me? Tell me, Dad! Are you saying you expected this to show up in me all along and you never bothered mentioning a fucking word about this?"

"No, no," Kenneth added defensively. "I thought it ended with me. The Shadow Technology was removed from my system twenty-one years ago. I thought it was gone for good but somehow, enough remained in me to manifest itself in you."

"What the _hell_ is the Shadow Technology?" Kiennen's eyes were wide with fear. His complexion was pale and perspiration rolled down the sides of his face. Normally, Kenneth would expect him to laugh it off like he normally did. But the way Kenneth was reacting, his gaze downcast, his tone solemn, his efforts to keep his hands still from shaking so hard … it was pretty obvious to anyone in the room that this was something serious enough to scare him like this. And now it was scaring Kiennen too.

Kenneth took his son's hands into his and sniffed back the tears forming in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his lower lip trembling. He struggled to control himself. "I'm so … so sorry, Son. But I think you've just found out."


	6. Chapter 5: Family Affairs

**LAPD Precinct**

**Los Angeles, U.S.A.**

**10:25 pm**

"Don't lay a fucking finger on me," Kiennen hissed, pulling his hands out of his father's grasp. "I don't want to hear your excuses. You have none. You've kept this from me my whole life and now you apologize for it? How can you expect me to forgive you?"

"Kiennen, I had no idea," Kenneth insisted. "I didn't know I still carried it in me. I didn't even know it was still in me until what happened to you tonight!"

"And the possibility that it might have spread to me didn't even cross your mind?"

"Well … no, no it didn't. Seriously, I thought it was all behind me. I thought it was all in my past."

"You know," Kiennen said quietly, his fists balling by his sides, "come to think of it, I don't know the first damned thing about your past. This 'Shadow Technology' shit is the first thing I've heard about it."

"I've told you plenty."

"I'm not talking about those stories about you eating out of garbage cans and sleeping in refrigerator boxes, Dad! I suppose next you're gonna tell me you walked to school barefoot in the snow up on the Himalayas fifteen kilometers, uphill both ways right?"

"They're _not_ stories, Kiennen. They are true."

"Why hasn't Uncle Cranky told me about any of this then, huh? You guys grew up together right? He helped raise you when you were kids right? Your adoptive big brother? That alone tells me that you weren't as unfortunate as you claim you were."

"It'd take a lifetime to explain everything to you," Kenneth said, remaining surprisingly calm. "And I guess I can't blame you for not believing me. What I went through was seriously unbelievable and that's why I didn't want to let you know anything. I want you as far away from all that as you can be and …"

"Shut up, just shut up!" Kiennen bellowed. "I can't take this from you anymore! So all this bullshit happened to you in the past and you can't even share a word of it with me? Why haven't you told me a thing about your father? Why the hell was Mom the only one who got killed in the bank robbery? Don't tell me that had something do you with 'your past' too, did it? Oh, and maybe you can explain why everyone at school mistakes me and Chris for being brothers! Seriously Dad, these are things people have been saying about me, you know?"

Kenny's voice caught in his throat. "A…are people really saying that?"

"I don't like that look in your eyes, Dad," Kiennen said.

Kenneth instinctively reached for his glasses and began cleaning them on his white polo shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've told you as much as I'm willing to tell you without endangering your safety."

"If it's all in the past, how can my safety still be in danger? Of course, unless it's still an issue now. Like the Shadow Technology." Kiennen spoke bitterly.

"You are NOT funny, son."

"Who's being funny, here? Who's playing the fucking high school 'who can we keep in the dark' game?"

"Look, you can't even begin to understand ..."

"Well I _want _to understand! So why won't you fucking say something? Is there something suspicious about Mom getting shot square in the forehead by a seemingly random shot in a room full of people? Is there a reason Chris and I look so similar, we could be brothers?" Kiennen shook his head in disbelief, in rage at his father, gathering his nerves from his emotional explosion. When he spoke next, his voice was icy, quiet. "I've always wondered, but never questioned the facts. But tonight, with your reluctance to defend yourself, I'm starting to question even those."

Kenneth didn't say anything. He hadn't even looked up from cleaning his glasses as Kiennen raged on. What was it that Kenneth was feeling? What was this overwhelming emotion that sucked the air from his lungs and moistened his eyes? It was so intense, it physically hurt. Guilt for his secrecy? Embarrassment for not even being able to stand up to his own son? Sadness for having betrayed Kiennen? He didn't dwell on it and focused his mind on the lens of his glasses, not caring that he'd scratched the surface with the pressure his fingers were applying.

"Lock me up," Kiennen said, poking his head out into the hallway. His voice rose dramatically in volume as he continued. "I don't want to go home tonight. Put me in fucking jail for life for all I care! I don't want to go back. Not ever!"

"Kiennen," Chun Li said, appearing from around the corner. "Quiet! You're not helping Kenny or yourself by yelling like this."

"Anything to get me the fuck away from that damned liar!" Kiennen hissed, pointing accusingly at Kenneth who remained where he was seating, his gaze downcast.

"Kenny?" Chun Li asked, peeking into the room, but he didn't even notice her presence.

"Please, Auntie Chun Li," Kiennen suddenly pleaded. "I don't want to go home tonight. Please let me stay here. I just … I can't even look at Dad right now."

"What happened between you two?" she asked, appalled by his words.

"He's not who I thought he was," Kiennen replied simply, before storming off towards the cells where he had been taken from.

Chun Li crept slowly into the interrogation room where Kenneth still sat motionless. And indeed, an interrogation had taken place moments ago, but not by the intended party of course. Though Kiennen was the suspect, it was Kenneth who now looked like he'd just been drilled mercilessly. Chun Li took a seat in the chair Kiennen was seated in moments ago. She spoke gently to Kenneth.

"Kenny?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing. "Kenny, what did you tell Kiennen?"

He looked up at her with watery eyes, but his composure was strangely calm, eerily so. His eyes were red, his short, spiky hair in a tangled mess on his head. A loud snap rang through the empty room and Kenneth placed both halves of his now shattered glasses neatly onto the table, with precise movements, lining them alongside each other like some kind of artistic display.

"Kiennen's never gotten used to seeing me without these," he said, pointing towards the pieces. "When he was about five or six years old when he first saw me washing my face with these glasses off. He didn't recognize me and ran away crying for his Dad, screaming that there was a stranger in the house. I found him in the kitchen, hiding underneath the dining table, cowering there. He looked so scared and I had to calm him down and put them back on for him to recognize me. The look of fear vanished as soon as they were back on my face. He told me later that he didn't even know who I was without them."

Kenneth's eyes drifted back down from Chun Li's face and back onto the table at those same glasses, now in two pieces staring back up at him with a look of betrayal through their blank plastic lenses. "I think these have outlived their usefulness," he said quietly, in a volume barely above a whisper. "I doubt they'll be calling him back to me this time."

"Kenny," Chun Li said, putting her soft hands on his knuckles, "_what _did you tell him?"

"I told him about the Shadow Technology," he replied.

"What else?" she pressed.

"Nothing else."

"And _that _was his reaction?" Chun Li took a deep breath to calm her own fear for Kenneth. "Kenny, if that's how he's reacted to just the Shadow Technology, how do you think he'll take the news about … oh God, about everything else?"

Kenneth shook his head slowly from side to side. "I don't know. I don't know."

"We shouldn't have helped you keep all of that from him in the first place," Chun Li said looking regretfully out the door, wondering what the teen was thinking right now, wondering if he was really happy in the cell. If he wasn't now, he certainly would be after hearing everything else Kenneth had to reveal. "We really, really shouldn't have …"

**XXXXX**

**LAPD Precinct**

**Los Angeles, U.S.A.**

**10:51 pm**

Chun Li and Kenneth had sat outside on the front stairs of the precinct discussing the information they'd been given on Kiennen's charges. Enough witnesses were there to confirm it was him who had killed the other boy, and Christopher Crankurt's statement had not changed after a second phone call. The nature of the death, though gruesome, was merciful. The beheading was neat and clean – a head sliced from the shoulders as accurately as if it had been done by a laser, not torn, twisted, or chopped off. That seemed to imply two things; firstly, that because the victim couldn't have suffered much, perhaps lessen the years Kiennen would spend in prison and secondly, how the hell did Kiennen do such a clean job of the kill? Was the technology already so advanced in him that he could hit lethally, precisely and quickly. Kenneth shuddered at the thought and took another drag off his cigarette.

Chun Li looked at him with a disapproving frown set on her face, but Kenneth knew she couldn't blame him for picking up smoking again – at least for tonight. Besides, they were doing a wonderful job of calming him down. And if Kenneth needed calming down, it was now, after this evening from hell. The two of them hadn't said anything to each other for the last few minutes, just enjoying the night air, listening to the sounds of distant motors, feeling the cool breeze against their faces. Despite the recent occurrences, the world seemed like a perfect place, if only for those few minutes.

The tranquility was shattered when a car swerved around the corner, tires screeching, and pulled into a stop by the curb directly in front of Chun Li and Kenneth. They looked with curiosity at the car – a red two door hatchback with a white decal line running along its hood, and the roof of the vehicle.

Kenneth was about to announce Craig's arrival but didn't have to, as his adoptive older brother got out of the driver's side, his mop of red hair as their first glimpse of him like a shark fin. He wasn't dressed for the temperature drop that night, wearing only a thin, dark green long sleeved shirt, khaki shorts and runners with no socks on. Kenneth could see him shiver as he slammed the door shut, and without locking it, rushed over to the stairs to them.

"Holy shit, Kenny," Craig said, "I heard about everything. I'm so sorry this had to happen." He caught eye of the cigarette smoking between Kenneth's lips and look at it suspiciously. "I thought …" But then he thought better of it and never bothered finishing his sentence.

"Hello, Craig," Chun Li said, approaching him.

"Hey Chun," he replied, giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you so much for coming," she continued. "Kenny's had a rough night."

"Nah, it wasn't a problem," Cranky said. "Anything for my Kenny-boy here. You ready to jet?"

"Yeah," Kenneth nodded, discarding the butt in an adjacent ashtray. "Thanks for all the support, Chun Li."

"It's no problem," she said. "Oh, and Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to drive like a maniac anywhere within half a mile of the police station? I think your chances of getting a ticket would be significantly reduced."

**XXXXX**

The adoptive brothers hadn't spoken much either during the car ride. Craig was at a loss of words for him, really. What was there to say? In such a horrible situation, Craig was lucky that his son Chris was merely a witness and not the actual suspect but yet, that didn't seem to make things better. It was Kenneth and his nephew he worried for. But he realized that voicing any of his sympathy would probably only make Kenneth feel worse. Craig could read him like a book just from how he moved and reacted to things said to him.

Right now, Kenneth stared out the passenger window, eyes narrowed, appearing to be looking at nothing and everything at the same time. His right elbow was propped up onto the window, his left hand gripping his knee. Craig knew he was obviously thinking of something that disturbed him, if the dead white knuckles were anything to go by.

"I like the new look," Craig said, breaking the silence between them. Kenneth looked like hell to him, with his reddened eyes and tear streaked face, and decided it'd be better to save him from the awful truth about his predicament. Kenneth probably had enough drama for a single night.

"I call it Eau de Miserable," Kenneth muttered in reply, not having cheered up the slightest bit from Craig's joking superficiality.

"I meant the glasses," Craig continued, "or lack thereof. I was wondering when you were gonna get rid of those nerdy things. All you needed was a pocket protector and …"

"Fashion critic now, are we?" Kenneth asked, smiling at him – the first smile to cross his features since they'd stepped into the car.

"You're not an academic. You're a shrewd manipulator of minds."

"I'm a marketing supervisor!"

"My point exactly."

"Maybe that's why I choose to look like a harmless academic," Kenneth suggested, "so people will think I'm harmless, and then when they least expect it …"

"You just don't know how to dress, let's just leave it at that, okay?" Craig winked.

"Where are we going?" Kenneth asked when they had missed the turn on the main road that would take him into the suburbs of his home.

"Home," Craig answered, as if it had been obvious. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone in that mansion of yours, not when you're in this state, especially after all that's happened tonight."

"I appreciate you coming to get me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Craig said, waiving it off.

"But you know, me and your wife …"

Craig frowned deeply, disturbed by Kenneth's words. Katarina was his wife, that much was true, but …

"Your sister?" Craig asked.

"You know, my relationship with her is awkward at best. I mean, with all the crap that went down over the years I'm not sure if … well, do you think she would mind?"

"Kenny," Craig said, all joking pretense aside, "she knows you are the little brother I never had."

"I'm not little anymore."

"And she also knows that I'm not going to abandon you in your time of need. Besides, your room is still in the same condition it was before you moved out."

"It'll be a sty," Kenneth said, recalling his lifestyle in his early twenties.

"And for once, _you'll _have to deal with it," Craig replied, smiling.

**XXXXX**

**Meanwhile …**

**Crankurt Residence**

Katarina Crankurt stepped lightly up the flight of stairs, performing a remarkable balancing act with the tray of dinner leftovers and a glass of orange juice rest on her left forearm, and a laundry basket with a full load of clothes on the top of her head reminiscent of the way African tribeswomen carried water jugs. Behind the door bathed in darkness at the end of the hallway, Christopher lay asleep – either that or recounting those damned glow-in-the-dark stars she had put up for him when he was just a kid. When she and Craig had bought him the set for his third birthday, they thought the stars would be a good way to teach the kid how to count. But she had no idea how attached he would grow to those little things, soothing him even in the most strenuous times. All they had ever managed to do to Katarina was irritate her, and wonder when her teenage son would plan on taking them down. But that time, if it were to come, wasn't it sight.

Katarina knocked lightly on the door.

"What?" Chris called out, his voice muffled by the closed door.

"There's some food out here if you're hungry," Katarina replied. She waited for an answer, maybe even a thank you, but she waited for a little longer than she was willing and turned around to walk away.

"Mom?" Katarina stopped dead in her tracks.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you … can you please come in? I need to talk."

Katarina breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking the big man in the sky for Chris, finally willing to open up and talk about his experience. She'd sent Craig up to try and get something out of him, anything, really. But he never came back with results. She opened the door gently and poked her head through.

Chris was lying on his bed, hands propped behind his head, one leg crossed over the other knee. Katarina imagined him to be curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his body, or maybe burying his head in his hands in sadness. But he looked so comfortable sitting like that, so melancholy, wagging his foot in the air that she was taken aback at first glace.

"Is everything okay, hun?" she asked.

"I feel fine," he said, shrugging. "Nothing hurts. I'm just having trouble coming to terms with what an asshole I am."

Katarina cocked her head. "Why would you say that?"

"It's Kiennen, Mom," he said. "I betrayed my best friend by testifying against him to the police."

She felt her heart beam with pride as she stroked the back of his head. "It was a hard thing to do," she said sympathetically, "but it was right of you to do it."

Chris shook his head in retort. "No, it wasn't Kiennen. Well … I mean, physically, yes it was. But there was something about him that just wasn't human."

"Is that what you told the police?" Katarina asked.

"You'd never believe what I told the police, Mom," he said.

"I tend to believe my children," she replied gently, urging him with her expression to continue.

"Mom, what I'm about to tell you is … unbelievable to say the least. But I swear I'm telling the truth, even if the officers didn't believe me."

"Go ahead, dear."

"Kiennen killed someone today. At least I think he did. That's what everyone else is saying. They said he become some kind of monster and just started killing this one kid he was fighting. They said his skin turned all black and his eyes started glowing green."

"Yeah, but Chris, you're not supposed to tell the police what other people saw. You're supposed to give an account from your perspective."

"I did. And what I saw supported the claims everyone was making. We were knocked out – at least, the people immediately surrounding Kiennen were. I don't know how long I was out for, but when I came to, I could've sworn in saw his skin fading from some dark shade, into his regular complexion. I thought it was just my eyes readjusting to the light but when I heard everyone else's story … Mom, are you feeling okay?"

Katarina had caught herself staring with disbelief at Chris. Her mouth was locked in a large O, her normally slender eyes had widened with shock. Chris's description had struck such a strong note with her that it had hit her like a truck and she almost forgot how to breathe for those few seconds.

The dark skin was a result of the body absorbing all forms of energy around in the immediate vicinity via the epidermal layers to power it. No form of energy escaped it; not even light, nor the natural chi flowing in living bodies, which explained why those immediately surrounding the subject had lost consciousness. They could've easily been killed too if Kiennen had absorbed too much ... The glowing eyes were a display of the energy already absorbed into the body. And the ability to kill quickly and efficient was exactly how the technology was supposed to function …

"Mom, snap out of it!" Chris cried, shaking his mother lightly by the shoulders.

"Oh … goodness, I'm sorry," she said, snapping back to reality. She swallowed the growing lump of dread in her throat and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "I just … I think it'd be best if you stayed away from Kiennen."

"He's my best friend," Chris retorted. "I can't just ditch him like that, not at a time like this."

She tried thinking of some kind of explanation, but when she couldn't come up with one, simply settled with, "it' s getting late and you've had a rough night. Get some sleep and we'll try and phone Kiennen in the morning. But I meant what I said. I don't want you hanging around that boy."

"Whatever," Chris replied, rolling his eyes. "That's only cause you think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Katarina would've liked to believe she didn't say anything back to Chris to dignify such a ridiculous question with a response. But the ugly truth was that she didn't want to let him know just how on the ball he was with his recounting of the events. She silenced him with a kiss to the forehead, a kiss that he wiped at with irritation. "Geez, Mom, you really _have _to stop that." Good, it had taken his mind off the incident. It had worked.

**XXXXX**

Katarina headed down towards the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, or maybe a warm glass of milk. Then again, maybe some coffee would do too, but it'd keep her up all night. Not that she'd be doing much sleeping anyway, after what Chris had just told her. But she wanted something, anything to take her mind off those unpleasant facts. What in the world was the Shadow Technology doing inside Kiennen? Her mind dwelled on the possibilities, and Katarina found that she had to consciously make an effort to open up the cupboard, take out a mug, fill the electric kettle … and then caught herself staring into space for who knew how long before she finally plugged the thing into the outlet.

While waiting for the water to boil, she paced around the island table, her path orbiting it while the thoughts ran through her mind. The Shadow Technology was in her brother Kenneth and not his son. And it had been removed from his body years before Kiennen was born. How in the world was it able to make a reappearance? And the version of the technology planted in him when he was a six year old child was severely out of date, since Katarina herself had done some major upgrades to the piece since then. Even still, none of those upgrades were ever designed to make the technology act like some kind of organism, capable of reproducing itself in the offspring of the host. Besides which, Kenneth never even went near the upgraded work. Which still left the question, how did it end up in his son? Katarina racked her mind for a logical explanation but when none seemed forthcoming, she sighed out loud in frustration just as the water had come to a boil and the kettle shut itself off.

She headed over to the counter to pour herself a glass of hot water, with some instant tea powder already sitting at the bottom of the glass. She looked out the adjacent window as she did, its sill decorated with miniature bonsai trees – leapt back in horror when she spotted a face staring back at her from the darkness outside.

The glass dropped to the ground, scattering razor shards and tea powder everywhere on the floor. Katarina pressed her back against the island table, never taking her gaze off the face that stared back creepily at her. It took her a few moments to get over the shock to recognize the face, the slit oriental eyes, the bangs that touched his thick eyebrows. And she didn't like who she saw.

"Open up," the face mouthed, knocking against the window lightly with the knuckle of his index finger.

"What do you want?" Katarina demanded, rooted to the spot.

"I have to talk to you," the intruder said, loud enough to be heard through the glass. But she only shook her head. There was no way this madman was coming inside, especially not with Chris sleeping upstairs.

When it became clear that Katarina was no going to make a move to let him in, he reached down, rummaging around for something, and came into view again through the window, holding a cell phone up to his ear. Katarina jumped when the phone to her home rang. She looked at it, the bright flashing lights of the machine, and then back at the intruder who beckoned her to answer it.

Katarina raced to the phone and picked up the receiver, fearing Chris would. "What the fuck do you want?" she said savagely into the mouthpiece.

"I want to talk to you," the intruder repeated, only this time his voice was clearer, sharper, and that much more familiar.

"Get lost before I call the police," she threatened. "And don't think I won't do it."

"They'd be dead before they could even pull out their firearms."

"That's it, I'm calling them."

"Katarina Feng relying on someone else to protect her?" the voice asked mockingly. "You definitely have changed."

"For the better," she added.

"With a beautiful son to boot," he said. "It'd be a shame for someone so young, so full of energy and promise to …"

"Enough," Katarina interrupted. "Don't you even think of coming within a mile of him."

"I'd say there's about a few meters between us right now," the intruder estimated, looking up in the direction of Chris's room. "Now, are you going to let me in, or what?"

Katarina decided granting him entry into her home was the better option. Chris couldn't defend himself against this crazed man, whereas she could. There was a lot more to her than the petite Chinese woman she was visually. There was a lot of history behind her visage …

"I'll let you in through the kitchen door," she said, "but you are not to leave the dining area."

"As you wish, Katarina," he said.

She hung up the phone and approached the back door, hesitating to unlock it, and slide it back. He was a man a few years younger than her, standing a full head above her form. He stepped inside and standing there, in front of Katarina was a man with broad shoulders, his sweater filled with the lean muscles of his upper torso. He was tough looking with the look and build of a brawler, but Katarina based on history, being trained personally by a top Shadowlaw warrior, she knew he was far deadlier than he looked.

"What do you want, Genta?" she asked, suppressing the fear that rose to her throat.

"To talk," Genta replied honestly.

"And what would I have do discuss with someone like you?" Katarina sneered.

"Says the woman who bribes a crazed assassin to kill her brother's wife," Genta added.

"I had no choice!" she said, getting defensive. "You were going to kill Kenny. I couldn't just sit by."

"So you made the choice for him without giving him the chance to grasp what's going on. No wonder he hates you."

"Just forget about it," Katarina said angrily. "I don't expect you to understand anyway. What is it you came to talk about?"

"I have some information you might be interested to hear," he said slyly, "regarding the sudden reappearance of the Shadow Technology …"


	7. Chapter 6: Time to Tell

They pulled up the long driveway to the Crankurt home; a large two storey Victorian house with an even bigger garden lined with rose bushes, fig trees, strawberry plants and other fruit bearing plant life. A cobblestone walkway snaked through the property, around the showcase trees and bushes that Katarina had invested countless hours in keeping up their appearances, and eventually led them up to the double front doors of the house. Craig had mentioned before that he'd wanted to dig up the useless path and rebuild it with his bare hands so that it would lead directly to the door but the suggestion was met with pure, angry protest by his wife.  
Craig and Kenneth finally reached the front door after nothing less than a short stroll along the path (God forbid they set foot on the grass) and entered the home, both of them a little surprised to find the front door unlocked. They stepped inside directly onto a floor mat, and Kenneth could feel the heated air rush against his face, chilled by the cold air outside. An elegant chandelier hung overhead, casting a warm, soft light in the foyer and the scent of brewing tea lingered in the air.

"That's weird," Craig said, wrinkling his nose. "I figured Kat would be asleep by now."

"I'd hoped so," Kenneth added with a hint of bitterness in his voice that didn't go unnoticed.

"Good, then," Craig snapped, "You can have that badly needed talk." Kenneth shot him a glare.

"Alone," Craig specified, "because I'm tired but more importantly, because you've avoided Katarina ever since meeting her."

"Can you blame me?"

"No, but you'd think twenty six years is a long enough time to come to terms with the fact that she's your blood-sister."

"You never fail to remind me of that little fact," Kenneth mumbled bitterly before trudging deeper into the house. Craig produced a soft, surrendered sigh and followed him in. Out of habit, Kenneth stepped onto the smooth tile of the main entrance and removed his shoes, neatly placing them on a rack to the left – something he had been trained to do during the time spent living here. The rack supported a large array of footwear with four pairs belonging to Craig and Christopher, taking up a modest corner. The rest belonged to Katarina – high heeled shoes, boots with every imaginable cut, open toed, closed toed in every color imaginable from the color spectrum.

"Since Kat's got the tea brewing," Craig mentioned, remembering Kenneth's love for coffee, "you want something to drink?"

"A mickey of tequila," he replied without missing a beat and headed straight for the living room.

They had just entered the living room when Craig nearly collided with his brother, who had come to a sudden stop. He'd only let out a soft cry of surprise and then saw what had stopped Kenneth dead in his tracks. Katarina was sitting at the small circular dining table where the family would have their meals. She was leaned back, arms tightly folded, as if the mere sight of the table's other occupant had repulsed her. It was a man with a face that Craig and Kenneth both recognized but could not immediately place. The man, however, smiled widely upon noticing the new arrivals.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a little reunion," he noted, looking at them with almost soul-less eyes.

XXXXX

Kiennen sat on a plastic chair placed in the opposite corner from where the toilet was set. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin resting atop them as his eyes stared blankly at the cement floor. Goosebumps formed on his arms and his stomach growled through his shirt but that was nothing compared to the betrayal he felt; betrayal from his own father. It was along the lines of having one's parents lie to their child about their family ancestry, but this was worse simply for the fact that lives were endangered. Kiennen had something dark running through his veins, something he could not control and Kenneth hadn't uttered a word to him about it. Did he not trust his own son with that knowledge? Did he not think Kiennen could handle it? Or did he truly believe that ignorance was bliss? But ignorance had cost someone their life, and now Kiennen was paying for it.

"But it's not my fault," he whispered to himself. "It's Dad's. He didn't tell me. I didn't know." And so the cycle of blame started all over again for the umpteenth time that night, while he remained huddled in the corner of his cell. But then, an idea struck.

He had already used this dark energy and beheaded an older boy quickly and cleanly. He was going to be tried for it, and spend the rest of eternity rotting in conditions worse that this at the local police station. It was a bleak future that he wanted to avoid, and since he'd already committed the ultimate sin of murder, he couldn't do any worse by merely trying to escape his sentence. Things could only get better from here.

Smiling, he rose from his corner and approached the thick black barred doors holding him in, silently congratulating himself for finding the light at the end of his tunnel. In each hand, he grasped onto a bar and pulled in as much air as his lungs could handle in one breath, and tried to pull the bars apart.

XXXXX

"Genta …"

It took him a second for the realization to sink it, and going by the look on Craig's face, he knew who it was too. The adoptive brothers immediately sank into a fighting stance, prepared for the fight that was going to take place here and now.

"Get away from him, Kat," Craig said sternly. "Be with Chris."

Katarina nodded obediently and looked at Genta one last time in the eye. "You've made a mistake," she said, and rose from her seat calmly and proceeded to the stairwell that would take her upstairs where her son was probably asleep, completely oblivious to the events transpiring downstairs.

Genta chuckled to himself, whether it was out of amusement or realizing he was outnumbered, Kenneth couldn't tell. And he, too, got up casually and faced the two brothers. If he felt threatened, his composure didn't give it away. Neither did the tone in his voice.

"I didn't come here to fight," he said, "but if it's what you two want, I will oblige."

"Get out of here, Genta," Kenneth warned. "I've had a very bad day and I'm looking for every excuse to take it out on someone."

"You've gone soft, Kenny," Genta sneered. "You'll be taking out your frustration by peeling yourself off the floor when I'm done with you." Kenneth lunged toward Genta but was stopped by a powerful grip on his shoulder, causing him to wince in pain.

"No," Craig ordered, "not here." His gaze flicked upwards for a moment, clueing Kenneth in on the fact that Katarina and Chris were in still the house. Realizing he couldn't engage in combat with Genta without endangering Craig's family, he grunted in frustration and stood his ground.

"Hmph, you really have lost whatever edge you had." That was the first time Kenneth could recall that Genta had acknowledged his ferocity in battle. Except now, it had been roughly two decades since he'd put away his combat skills, but the hate he harbored towards Shadowlaw and anything associated with it never left him. As much as Kenneth would have liked to cut Genta down where he stood, he knew he couldn't take the risk with other people present; never mind that Genta had probably been training with Shadowlaw all these years and would probably eliminate Kenneth, now a marketing supervisor, in under three minutes.

"We won't fight here," Craig said. His composure was calm but his tone was powerful. "Leave, Genta."

Genta lowered his fists and sneered at them both. "I'm finished with business here anyhow." He turned partly away from the brothers and headed out the porch door from where he entered.

"What did you do to Kat?" Craig demanded.

"Ask her," Genta said before leaving. He didn't bother closing the door behind him.

Craig and Kenneth were silent even after Genta had left, neither of them knowing what to make of the situation. Two mugs of hot tea sat on the dining table – the one at Genta's seat three quarters empty, and Katarina's still full and steaming. In any other scenario, one would have safely assumed two old friends had just been sitting here catching up on the times. But the fact that Katarina and Genta shared a past did not escape Kenneth, who continued to remain suspicious about the woman who he still refused to acknowledge as his blood sister. Craig, on the other hand, seemed to relax now. As far as he was concerned, the absence of Shadowlaw was cause for celebration yet he didn't share Kenneth's sentiments about his wife being Shadowlaw herself.

"Is everything alright?" Katarina asked, standing at the end of the hallway that led into the dining room where a fight nearly broke out.

"It's okay," Craig reassured her, "Genta's gone now. How's Chris?"

"He's asleep," she replied. "I was ready to jump into his room, grab him and run like a bat out of hell. I guess that wouldn't have done much against Genta anyway."

"What were you two discussing?" Kenneth demanded. Craig chided him with a stern look for the aggression in his tone, knowing it wouldn't work with Kenneth anyway. It hadn't worked when they were kids, and it wasn't going to work now.

Katarina opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself, as if she realized saying a word would be a grave mistake.

"I see," Kenneth said, "more secrets."

"Enough, Kenny," Craig interrupted, and this time, it succeeded in forcing him to back off.

Katarina held up her index and middle fingers. "There are two things you need to know," she said. "And you're not going to like either one of them." Kenneth swallowed a lump in his throat upon hearing this, and suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to hear what Katarina had to say. In one day, an innocent boy had been killed and his fourteen year old son had been convicted of manslaughter and possibly murder, and he had just run into his longtime nemesis from Shadowlaw after two decades of living free from their influence. And he had just picked up smoking again as a result. What else could go wrong in twenty-four hours?

Katarina motioned for the both of them to sit and Kenneth and Craig found themselves at the same dining table Katarina and Genta sat minutes ago, only now Kenneth was in Genta's spot. She folded her arms tightly and looked nervously downward, as if she were scrutinizing the white fabric of the table cloth while her husband and his younger brother waited patiently for her to find the right words. Kenneth felt like he was on a talk show, the ones that usually involved someone having to reveal a secret. Only this one wasn't staged. This was real. Kenneth looked at his open palms, flexed his fingers slightly, wondering if this was all really happening. All saw was a blurry mass of flesh that had the silhouette of hands. He would've blamed it on his poor vision, after having mutilated his glasses back at the police station, but he also knew his vision was caused partly by tears generated by the fear of what was about to be revealed. He wanted to know, but he knew it wasn't good news.

Craig reached to his left, and covered Katarina's small hands with his palm. Her posture eased and she seemed to relax a little at his touch. To his right, he put his hand on Kenneth's shoulder but his body trembled more as a result, the fear becoming more real in his eyes. If he didn't believe it before, Craig's hand on his shoulder proved it really was happening.

Katarina took a deep breath and as she exhaled, she spoke. "I know why the Shadow Technology appeared in Kiennen." Kenneth looked at her as if she had known all along but chose to keep the information from him. She waited to see how else he would react, but when nothing further came from him, she continued. "During the battle with Shadowlaw during the Street Fighter tournaments all those years ago …"

"Are you sure this is the best timing?" Craig interrupted her.

"You're in on this too, Cranky?" Kenneth asked him. But neither of them responded with words, but just sighed instead with the realization that it was too late to try to hide. "Now would be a good time to explain." The subtle demands in his tone weren't lost on Craig and Katarina. Looking uneasy, they began speaking in turns, filling Kenneth in on the information he had missed out on all these years.

"The reason Kiennen inherited the Shadow Technology," Katarina began, "is because it was in you to pass it along. You believed all these years that it had been permanently removed from your body. But during that battle with Shadowlaw's forces, you were shot by Genta. You remember that, I'm sure."

Kenneth nodded, recalling what he'd suffered as a result of the gunshot wound, which surprisingly didn't feel like anything. So much adrenaline had been running through his body then that he didn't feel the bullet's penetration. The last thing he remembered was the hatefl sight of Genta's face and

then … and then … he couldn't remember anything at all.

"You wouldn't have bled to death," Craig continued, "and the only way to save you, given our resources at the time, was the Shadow Technology. Katarina carried a sample on her at all times to remind her of the contributions her father made to Shadowlaw without realizing that it would come in handy one day. And we used it to save you."

Kenneth held up a hand, signaling for them to stop speaking. "So you're saying," he said, after a moment of silence, "is that the only reason I'm alive right now is because you put that shit back inside of me after the years and years I wished it would just disappear?" Katarina nodded silently.

"Even after knowing how much I despised carrying it around with me?"

"I'm sorry Kenny …" Craig said.

Kenneth shuddered again, trying to keep a lid on his emotions and it had taken him more than a few seconds to regain control of himself. Hot tears splashed on the table mat where he sat, which didn't go unnoticed by Craig or his wife.

"We thought it would be for the best to not tell you," Katarina said, trying to justify her reasons for not letting him know in the first place. "What was most important to me at the time was that I still had family left to fight for. Shadowlaw had taken away our parents, and they had just killed Aaron. I was determined not to be the last one to carry on our family name. I needed someone to fight for. I needed you."

"You don't just go injecting foreign material into someone without letting them know, Katarina," Kenneth snapped. "And that's just the start of it. Look what the Shadow Technology has produced!"

"I guess I must've done a better job at improving it than I'd expected," she admitted quietly.

Kenneth shook his head. "Me … having that shit in me again is one thing. But my son …" His speech lingered there. "… my son …"

"We should've told you," Craig said, "but we had no idea it would resurface again."

"Telling me wouldn't have changed what's happening now. What's more important to me at this point is how we're going to explain it to Kiennen, and how we're going to get him out of his predicament. The kid already hates me for keeping enough secrets from him." Kenneth opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it right away, knowing it wouldn't be his head talking but his heart. And he didn't want to say anything to offend Katarina in her own home – regardless of whether she deserved it or not. "I can't stay here right now."

As if she understood how he felt, Katarina kept her gaze low and remained unmoving while Kenneth got up from his seat and headed for the door. Craig, on the other hand, was not as complacent. He chased after Kenneth, who was now by the front door, putting his shoes on. "Do you have any idea how far away you live?" he asked, trying to deter him.

"I'll walk." He stomped his left heel on the ground, securely fastening the shoe to his foot.

"Genta could still be around!"

"He's more than welcome to bring it."

"KENNY!" Craig seized him by the upper arms, his face inches away from Kenneth's. "I thought you grew the fuck up. What we did was wrong, I know and I'm sorry. But that doesn't justify you running out of here like an emotional little bitch and getting yourself killed with Genta frolicking around out there when you have Kiennen to think about!!"

"Won't the Shadow Technology take care of it?" Kenneth said smartly, and closed the door behind him.

XXXXX

For the next hour or so, Craig fought the instinct to run after Kenneth. The fact that Genta was somewhere out there nipped at the back of his mind. But Craig tried to justify not running after his brother by reminding himself that Kenneth once served as an information scout on the wrong side of the law, and was adequately armed with hand to hand combat abilities. But Craig also knew he hadn't used it in ten years and was now, to summarize, a businessman. And Genta … he had never stopped training from the moment Craig first met him. So despite his sad attempts at convincing himself that it'd be best if stayed put and let Kenny do as he wished, he knew it wouldn't have been the right thing to do. Then he opened his eyes.

"You're really thinking of going after him, aren't you?" Katarina's voice asked from the darkness.

Craig swallowed a lump in his throat. She probably wouldn't like the answer. "I have to." He felt her hand grasp his, cool to the touch even beneath the covers.

"I was wondering when you were going to come around," she said.

"You were awake this whole time?"

"With your tossing and turning, how could I not be?"

"I'm sorry." The two remained silent for a moment, each one thinking about what to do next.

"I think you should go after him, Crank."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing from her. He had to make sure he was understanding her properly. He had to see her face. Craig reached over and turned on the table lamp, finding Katarina propping her head up with one arm, elbow resting on the pillow, and she was facing him with a sympathetic look on her face. "That's right, I think you should go after him."

He shook his head apologetically, "Thank you for understanding, Kat. I know Kenny hasn't been the nicest guy to you, but he's a good person – really. He cares deeply about those close to him and will sacrifice himself for the people he loves and …"

She placed a finger gently on his lips. "I know. But this isn't about me … for once," she sighed sadly, "for once this isn't for me. I know Kenny doesn't want me in his life, let alone recognize me as his sister. I gave up on trying years ago. I mean that … I can deal with."

"That's not something you should have to deal with," Craig said firmly, contrasted by the gentle touch his rough hands provided on her smooth, pale skin. "Everybody needs a family. You were just trying to find yours."

"But at what cost? It took him seven years for him to acknowledge you again, after I came into your life." The reminder brought up whatever hostility remained in him as a result of Kenneth's stubbornness. He got off the bed suddenly, and walked with heavy footsteps to the bedroom light.

"I never asked to speak with him again," Craig said. "I didn't want to see him again. He hated you so much, he pushed me out of his life with you without even a second thought, when he realized I wouldn't leave your side."

"It's all my …"

"NO!" Craig snapped angrily. "It was Kenny. It still is. It's always been about him. I figured it was just some teenage drama bullshit phase that he would grow out of, but after so long, the fact that he still holds on to these grudges. He's always known how to push my buttons, to get under my skin, and that was the one talent of his I never overcame." Craig held up his index finger angrily, "The one fucking trait of his that always drove me nuts. Even now, he's walking home, probably has blisters all over his feet spilling puss and blood all over the insides of his shoes but you know what? I know he's enjoying it. Because he knows I'm not gonna sleep well knowing he's out there."

"Just a second ago you were saying what a good guy he is."

"I just wish," Craig sighed, and plopped himself back onto the bed, this time in sitting position with his face in his hands, "I wish he wasn't so stubborn. I want him to give you the chance you deserve, like I did. You lost your parents, and later on your twin brother. Kenny's the only family – sorry, blood relative - you have left. And it pisses me off that he can't look beyond his own situation and see the big picture."

"You were angry with him. You would like nothing more than to give two shits about him. But that doesn't change the fact that you grew up together, closer than most siblings do if not for the sheer fact that your survival depended on it. He isn't your sibling but he is your brother like Aaron was mine, and you love him for it. That's why no matter how pissed off you are at him, or how you wish he was the farthest thing from your life, you will always worry about him."

Craig sighed, rubbed his face. "That's the shitty part."

"Look," Kat said, approaching him from behind, wrapping her slender arms around his broad shoulders, "it's not up to you to force Kenny to like me. It's up to me. And admittedly, trying to assassinate him when he was a teen, or injecting the Shadow Technology back into his body without his knowledge or consent, sure doesn't earn me any brownie points. I'm a big girl, I understand what I've done. Worse, I've always been too proud to apologize for it. And that pride contributed to the rift between you two."

"But he …"

"It's the same pride in him, Crank. It's in our genetics. It is the single force behind all our accomplishments, forces us to work hard. Aaron, at twenty three years old was the youngest admiral serving Shadowlaw's military having murdered hundreds with his bare hands, while I took it upon myself to improve on the Shadow Technology to revive Vega without considering the damage it had already done in a premature state. To me, it was nothing more than another medal, another promotion. Kenny is a Feng. He is not exempt from our flaws. You can't accept me despite my pride and abandon Kenny because of his. You know that."

"… I hate you," Craig said, tilting his head back while she gave his neck a soft kiss.

"You wish you did," Kat said smugly, and pulled away. "So what are you going to do about Kenny?"

Craig pressed all his fingertips into his scalp and ran them through his hair in frustration as he realized he was once again being defeated by Kenneth. "I'm going after him."


End file.
